


running lines

by ironicsopsychotic (delightisadream)



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial, Emotional Overload, F/M, Getting Together, Horny Teenagers, Making Out, Missing Scene, is this roleplay, joy's pov, lmao slight wrist kink joke, post-332 kiss, this girl is GOING THROUGH IT, undefined relationship stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightisadream/pseuds/ironicsopsychotic
Summary: joy and jerome need to have a serious talk.they're not gonna do that.
Relationships: Jerome Clarke/Joy Mercer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	running lines

**Author's Note:**

> bc we all wanted to see them make out more right  
> (seriously why'd they cut to the fireworks in 340 ffs)

If you had told Joy Mercer a year ago that she’d be thinking of Jerome Clarke constantly, she’d ask if it was in a malicious way, because that was the only logical answer.

If you had told her six months ago that she’d spend most of her time around him, working on a play or doing homework or simply sitting next to each other at breakfast, she’d believe all other Anubis inhabitants had died and he was the last human companion left.

If you had told her two months ago that she’d come to not only defend his actions but actively wish to learn the motives behind them, she’d wonder why that wasn’t Mara’s job.

If you had told her last week that she’d be replaying every single little interaction with him over and over and over again, wondering what they meant to him and cursing Mara’s vendetta and preparing herself for an inevitable heartbreak she didn’t want to deal with, she wouldn’t have known anything different.

That kiss had fucked with her head.

Let it be known that she had never, _ever_ in her entire time at Anubis felt attracted to Jerome Clarke. Not once. Some people changed drastically from seventh grade to now—the most notable being Alfie, if only for the fact Amber was gone and he now had a steady girlfriend he hadn’t pined for, as well as some newly acquired snazzy fashion sense—but Jerome had generally remained the same. She had never known much about him aside from the surface level things, i.e. that he was an asshole. She steered clear.

She liked nice guys, guys who could geek out about Egyptian hieroglyphics adorably and help her study and made her smile anytime she wanted. But of course, nice guys had a different type. They liked dirty blondes, ones who were also interested in Egyptian hieroglyphics, who were born on the same day as her, and who vanished nearly as fast as they had appeared. Nice guys liked Americans. Joy eventually cut her losses.

And then something weird happened. One of her closest friends got her heart broken, and that was enough to spawn a revenge so intricate Joy had to pretend to like Jerome. It was terribly clever at best and incredibly cliche at worst, but her involvement trickled down to this: her friend was in pain. She knew what it felt like to have no one in your corner, telling you to move on even as everything continued to fall out from underneath you, and so she helped. She was reluctant and discomfited by Jerome as a whole, but she’d do it for a friend.

That was before she realized if she herself had a whole other side hidden from people, tucked away for the quiet moments alone in her room where she could weep and grieve for her past, then maybe she wasn’t the only one to put up a front. It was easy to be cold and have a hardened heart when that was what the world continued to throw at you. It was more difficult to watch someone else mirror your struggles and reveal their secrets to you, to trust you. It was more difficult to keep up the same destructive behavior when that person dug their way into your heart as you did the same to them, nestling in like they belonged there. It was more difficult when that person kissed you to prove their feelings, and you reciprocated because you knew how you felt, even if you weren’t supposed to. It was more difficult when you wanted to love Jerome Clarke for real, not for a revenge plot.

Because of this, Joy did her best to avoid one-on-one interaction with him for too long. Group settings were allowed. His knee resting against hers at the dinner table was allowed, their hands brushing in class was allowed, and the longing gazes literally any time they locked eyes were allowed. She could handle anything as long as he didn’t try to kiss her again, because she knew herself well enough to recognize how perilous that would be. Joy was a lot of things, but she greatly lacked in control when it came to him. She’d give in, and she’d enjoy it even as she worried about the repercussions.

She really wanted to kiss him again.

So it shouldn’t have come as such a shock that he wanted the same thing.

About a week after they made out in front of the housemates (and, regrettably, Mr. Sweet) they were seated in the living room, Joy pretending to focus on her French homework while Jerome pretended he wasn’t looking at her from across the room and Alfie pretended he couldn’t feel the sexual tension between them. She loved Alfie. Alfie was sweet, and loyal, and he’d stay if he sensed she was uncomfortable. She needed him to stay there.

Unfortunately for her, something in her eyes whenever she’d sneak glances at Jerome must’ve given away how she _actually_ felt, because Alfie eventually excused himself to go take a nap. She tried to encourage him to nap there—the couch was more than comfortable enough, and they weren’t making any distracting noises. In fact, maybe she should go to her room to study, maybe she should even move to Isis House, they had a free room without Willow—but less than half of her protest got past her lips before he exaggeratedly flew to his room, claiming he missed his blankie. (The secret was out now, so he didn’t bother to hide that he still had it.) Jerome laughed, and then she laughed, and then he looked at her and suddenly she knew she’d made the right choice in sitting on a chair so far away from him.

He moved to the couch.

They continued to work in relative silence, sometimes a frustrated sigh leaving her when she realized she’d been staring at the same conjugation problem for five minutes straight. She tuned into the clock keeping time every once and awhile, but it made her feel even more like she was losing her mind. Jerome seemed calm in comparison. Then he spoke.

“You know what? This sucks,” he said, closing a folder and clicking his pen. Joy watched him carefully from the corner of her eye, not wanting to encourage too much conversation. “I’d much rather work on the play. Wanna run lines?”

It was like her brain short circuited for a moment. Nothing in his expression gave away that he noticed how she tensed, but he must have. Hell, he probably did it on purpose to get her attention. Running lines would never mean just _running lines_ to her ever again.

Slowly, as if her thoughts weren’t in the gutter, she shifted in her chair and motioned to the paper in front of her. “I’d love to, except I’m not done here.”

He merely raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that for a second. We’ve been out here for over an hour.”

Joy tapped her pencil against her binder, tongue in cheek. “No, really. This French homework needs finished, Jerome.”

He tilted his head in a charming way that sent a thrill through her body. His watch glinted just as something changed in his eyes. “Come on. You know the play’s _infinitely_ more interesting.”

 _It’s about you, it’s about you, it’s about you, how are you still so okay with this?_ She just looked back at him for a moment, trying to piece together why he held any interest in the project. The script itself wasn’t bad (if she ignored how uneasy she was about pushing this biased narrative onto him) and auditions were sort of coming together (if she completely disregarded the lack of talent and Mara’s irritable attitude), but those weren’t good enough to cause any real excitement.

He gazed back, warming her even more with the simple look. He couldn’t really believe Mara would get closure from this, right? But if he did... then he also meant what he told Joy in her room. Happiness had always been a fragile thing to her. Someone else working towards it muddled her thoughts even more, all her emotions jumbling together until it spelled out an affirmative answer.

She shouldn’t say yes. She couldn’t, actually. Everything about this was a bad idea, if not for what his intentions must have been but for what she knew she wanted herself. Being this disciplined was hard, but she would sit right here and finish her damn French homework and she wouldn’t think about how he’d tasted the one and only time she’d been able to kiss his lips.

She said yes.

As they gathered up their supplies, purposely avoiding eye contact, she tried to do damage control in her mind. She could explain this away easily enough to Mara: they worked on the play, they bonded for the plan. The rest of the house would be none the wiser that she desperately wanted to snog his face off. Hell, Alfie had gone to take a nap in their bedroom; they wouldn’t even be alone.

She let this calm her thoughts considerably, still focusing everywhere but Jerome’s face, which meant she looked at everything else. His neck, his chest, his wrists. Oh _god,_ did she have a thing for wrists? No. That was weird. It was just because it was Jerome and she wasn’t supposed to feel this way about him that everything seemed more appealing. Another cliche: forbidden feelings. She could handle that. She preferred acknowledging it was a cliche, actually. That meant it could be more easily broken.

But then Alfie wasn’t in the room and her pulse went through the roof. She hadn’t thought about it being an obvious excuse for the Scooby Gang rather than an obvious excuse to leave them alone. She hadn’t even considered he might have just left the living room altogether.

Jerome seemed to take this in stride, walking across the threshold and moving to find a spot for her books to set. She suddenly had no doubt in her mind that if Alfie had been in here, Jerome would have found a way to kick him out. Her pulse tripped wildly.

She quickly assessed the room and found the safest place to sit: his newly-cleaned nightstand. She sat down, then lifted her legs up and went cross legged, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. They didn’t need scripts; they knew the dialogue down to a T, but holding something would certainly help her get her bearings.

He messed with his cardigan before deciding on leaning against the closet doors, feigning a type of nonchalance she wasn’t sure he was truly capable of. “I think the confession scene needs some work.”

Her eyebrows shot up before she could think to school her expression. “The confession scene?”

He nodded simply. “Yeah, you know where Jo doesn’t believe Jordan’s sincere and so he gets all honest and opens up to her.”

“The one we did for Sweetie.”

“Yeah.”

She would’ve blushed at his boldness if she weren’t absolutely floored by the yearning to have a repeat of that runthrough. “Seems like we already derailed that one more than necessary, don’t you think?”

Jerome just shook his head and linked his fingers together. “No, see, I think it’s a little too stiff. _I’m off my food,_ who says that? The angst is there, but I think the emotions need to shine through a bit more.”

Joy splayed her fingers out on her knees, staring at them instead of him because she knew she’d give in. She still might. “I can’t believe you just used the word ‘angst.’”

A chuckle. And then, “As the director, I really think we should run this scene.”

A pause. “Alright.”

Some shuffling. “Well, I guess I’ll mess around with my little monologue. Joy?” She lifted her head, and he smiled at her. “Right. So. There’s something you need to know… about this. Us. It’s different” His Adam’s apple bobbed before he shook his head. “Well, no, that’s not true. I think we would’ve found our way to each other somehow, because one way or another, we’re _right_ for each other.”

Joy’s throat constricted, her hands stilling on her jeans. She thought reworking the scene meant finding new spots to emphasize, or having her react a few more times before Jer—Jordan poured his heart out. He must not have had the same thing in mind, because this wasn’t that.

This was a further confession of his own.

 _“You’re_ the thing that’s different to me,” he said fervently, pushing off the wall and taking a step in her direction. “Something about you just clicks with me, makes my head spin. God, I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t do _anything_ without thinking about you.” A breathy laugh slipped its way in, as if he still couldn’t quite grasp how hard it was to stop thinking about her. She knew the feeling. “I’m thrilled when you give me any sort of attention, even the negative kind.”

Her lips twitched involuntarily, a laugh bubbling up in her throat. “The negative kind is easy, but you probably have all kinds of girls willing to give the positive. I bet you give this same speech to them.” The hurt tone wasn’t creeping up this time, because this wasn’t really about the play. Last time the words were an outlet for how they were already feeling, but this time? It was an excuse to say just what he wanted to say, for Joy to have to listen and fall even deeper into the beautiful intricacies that were Jerome Clarke.

“Not even close,” he said, voice dropping an octave as he knelt to her height.

She angled herself down a little bit so it was more natural. No other reason.

“Just you.” He placed a hand on her knee, just barely overlapping her knuckles. “Only ever you. I would never…” His eyes pierced hers. “Do anything…” He squeezed her fingers. “To hurt… you.” And then he lifted his hand to her face, fitting just below her jaw. 

Joy swallowed and tried to collect herself. Her heart was banging so loudly in her chest it almost hurt. Her anticipation felt like it was bleeding out in every single look she gave him, in the way she left his hand on her neck, in the way she wanted his hand back on her leg too. Back everywhere.

"And I want to believe you,” she managed to get out, failing at keeping a blank expression as she waited to see if he’d surge up to kiss her like before.

Instead, he continued the scene. “Then believe me,” he murmured, tugging her down a hair. Her gaze flickered to his hand on her skin and the tingling sensation it was creating. “Please.” His eyes shifted to the bed beside them, a silent question within.

But this time, she couldn’t keep running lines. If even the nightstand wasn’t safe then she absolutely could not get on the bed. Joy found it in herself to turn her attention from his hand on her neck to his face; she didn’t have to look very far. She licked her lips once. Twice. “I’m… not sure changing her vision will go over well.” It was a feeble attempt to stop what had started building up so quickly yet again, but the fact that she omitted his ex-girlfriend’s name betrayed the reality.

She didn’t want to stop. And that was the problem.

He nodded slowly, just once, nose close to tipping against hers now as he stretched upward. “But if it’s already blocked then that’s less work for her to do… who can complain, right?”

Wrong. There’d be many complaints, all from the playwright herself and Joy’s conscience.

Her tripping pulse said otherwise.

She nodded in agreement.

If this were a movie, then Jerome would’ve picked her up with her legs wrapped around him and carried her to his bed. As it were, he straightened up and stepped back to give her space and she tripped coming down. He instantly teased her, she immediately snapped at him, and he caught her hand to playfully pull her back with him instead of threatening to leave. They weren’t a movie. He didn’t climb a mountain. They were real life, he washed dogs for her, and she’d preferred this over some childish fantasy every time.

He sat down first, and then she sat beside him but with no space between them, and she knew what she was doing, really. She understood this would have repercussions. She completely grasped the reality of the situation, how much more fucked up this would make her. But he was looking at her like he’d finally found something he wanted to do everything in his power to keep—and not through his usual questionable methods. Like he’d go to Hell and back, only taking the high roads, if it meant she’d be right by his side at the end of it. 

So she let herself lean in.

Joy hadn’t been sure if (when) they kissed again the same adrenaline would kick in. He’d been itching to prove how he felt, she’d been yearning to believe him even against her warring emotions. Normally she would’ve prohibited improvisation— _especially_ in front of Sweetie—but in the moment… it just felt right. They’d kept a hold of their scripts somehow, even as her arms had wrapped around him and he’d lifted her slightly off the ground, tugging her against him. She’d let herself be swept up, ignoring their audience, ignoring Mara, ignoring the pressing issue of the plan she hadn’t felt confident in for a long time now. Everything came to a peak when he kissed her, and she wasn’t sure if any sort of follow up would have the same effect.

She’d been wrong.

They were immediately eager, all fingers in hair and bodies pressed up against each other, lips never detaching for more than a split second. Like last time, one of her arms looped around his neck while he grabbed her face. She moved closer and closer and closer until there was no space left, her chest flush against his, heartbeats banging to the same happy tune. She stretched up to even out the height as he leant down. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, staying away from the perfectly styled top so far. He didn’t mirror the consideration, his hand winding further and further into her hair, practically tugging on it with his intensity. She would’ve sighed at the rightness of it all if she had any air left to breathe.

One of his arms snaked around her back to keep her steady as they fell backward. They resituated to lay closer to the headboard, his knee parting her legs even as she pulled his upper body over hers, her tongue slipping into his mouth. That was something they hadn’t done onstage, although she had certainly wanted to. In that moment, the adrenaline and emotions were so high she had wanted to do _everything_ onstage with him.

Her nails scraped at his scalp, immediately rewarding her with a very enticing sound. She grinned into the kiss, he reciprocated, and then did something with his tongue that had her echoing that same noise. It wasn’t a game or a fight, but if he wanted to keep trading moans she had absolutely no qualms about it. She encouraged it, even. She encouraged it even more when his hands skimmed her waistband, settling on her hips. He wasn’t touching any skin but he might as well have been with how hot she felt. Jerome’s palms practically burnt through her skinny jeans.

She let herself admire how she was feeling as their tongues danced. Every single bone in her body was singing at the contact, at the feeling in her chest, at the fact that this was _Jerome Clarke_ she was kissing. Jerome Clarke’s smart mouth that got him into more trouble than out of it was now attached to hers, and god she had no clue how she hadn’t envisioned this even once before this whole stupid plan. It seemed obvious now that she was in the middle of it, with his body over hers and her chest leaning up to brush against his, tantalizing thoughts involving less clothing dancing at the edge of her barely-conscious thoughts. Jerome Clarke was an amazing kisser: so-called assholes were _always_ good kissers. 

Eyes still closed, they shifted until they were in the middle of the bed, on their sides and as close together as possible. One of his legs parted hers, her ankle hooked around his calf, and something in her lower belly sparked as his arm encircled her waist at just the right angle for his fingertips to skirt across her back. She shivered into his touch, fully aware of the small smirk grazing his mouth but also fully intending to kiss it away. 

Her arms locked behind his neck, keeping her hands from drifting into his hair but allowing her to remain pressed up against him. Her chest was heaving, the tiny gulps of air in between kisses not enough but also too much. She didn’t want to come up from this. She never wanted to come up from this. How it felt to kiss Jerome was one thing, but combined with all the potent feelings jumbled around in her head and heart, this felt like the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, she could forget why this was problematic. Why shouldn’t she kiss him? There was no good reason not to when it was this nice.

Somehow she ended up on top of him, legs tangled and hair framing their faces completely. His arms spread out after the change, one hand hot between her shoulder blades and the other gripping her thigh, the one that was bent over his hips. Some part of her registered she was straddling him now, and some part of Jerome _definitely_ registered that, but the rest of her only knew the intimacy. This wasn’t enough. Never enough, never enough, never enough with this guy. She just had to want what she couldn’t have.

She didn’t know where her blazer had gone; there was a faint memory of helping remove his jumper. Her mouth slanted over his, his mouth slanted over hers. No clue where his tongue ended and hers began. She found she liked it this way, the uncertainty. The falling headfirst into something so amazing that she couldn’t recall how it had reached this point so fast. Barreling forward at full speed was something a completely level-headed Joy would never recommend, but lustful Joy, wrapped up in a gorgeous boy with perfect hair and a damaged heart and pure love… yeah, this Joy preferred it. She couldn’t overthink things when she wasn’t thinking much at all. All she had to do was enjoy the moment unfolding before her, lean into it, and let him kiss away the doubts. He always got rid of them anyway.

Lightly she traced his jawline, angling her head sharply to kiss him more deeply. He shifted so he was partially sitting up, responding in kind with his tongue and his hair fluttering against her forehead. Honestly, what was he _doing_ with his tongue? Whatever it was, she couldn’t get enough. The breathy moan he released into her mouth when she moved against him harder boosted her ego, convincing her to tighten her legs around his middle as she licked at his bottom lip. 

He was completely upright now, meaning she was properly sitting in his lap. Their bodies molded together perfectly here too, fitting like fuzzy question marks that desperately wanted to straighten out into thrilled exclamation points. She let herself be happy, nothing else, for a second as she reflected on this. She let herself hold his face in her hands, let herself ease even further into their current position, let herself enjoy the split second where his hands roamed before he remembered to be respectful. Because that was what he was. Respectful, and passionate, and the best possible guy to be making out with.

They finally fell back again, one of her legs straightening out to reduce some of the intense friction they had been creating. Both of his arms gravitated to the small of her back once more, her hands found purchase in his hair, and they went full force one more time. She poured all of her blazing emotions into this moment, every single thing she’d ever felt toward this man overflowing even as she knew she ought to reel it back in. Jerome was all confrontation and determination normally, so something about his careful pace with her set her heart alight. If she were to address one single word to the feeling—no. She couldn’t say that. But that didn’t mean she didn’t know the truth. All of this boiled down to one four-lettered word, and that was every bit as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

Eventually she was able to get some part of herself together, pressing her palms flat against his chest as she broke away. He looked absolutely _wrecked,_ lips plump and glossy, cheeks flushed, posh hair beyond repair.She didn’t even want to know what she looked like. 

“That, uh,” she said, voice coming out gravelly. She cleared her throat, focusing. “That wouldn’t be allowed onstage.”

He laughed at her stupid joke, eyes twinkling. “A little too PG, huh?” His thumbs brushed up and down her sides distractedly. 

_More like teetering on R._ She licked her lips carefully, using every bit of brainpower to not immediately recall how it felt to lick his. _“Way_ too PG.”

They both just breathed for a moment, trying to catch their breaths and allow what they had just done to sink in. Joy was going to need much longer than the next few seconds to compose her thoughts, but she wasn’t worried about the following conversation. If anything, she was worried about potentially slipping up when Mara asked her about the studying. But she wanted to bask in this feeling for a little longer. 

Slowly, as if this were the part he needed to consider further, he lifted a hand off her waist and cupped her face, palm light on her cheek. The clear thought behind the gesture made her heart stutter, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones, startled.

Jerome’s eyes skittered across her face, adoration written in his irises. “I really, really like you, Joy. But that probably went without saying.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at that, agreeing. “I don’t suppose I need to reciprocate much more either, do I?” That she hadn’t planned on revealing, but it was true, and it wasn’t a well-kept secret. She really, really, _really_ liked him too. Making out had only assured her of that.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

Joy rolled her eyes. “I like you, Jerome Clarke. A little too much for my own good.” Her chest hurt at just how much more true that statement was. She’d meant to joke a little, maybe relieve some of the sexually charged energy surrounding them, but now her thoughts were whirling around even faster. 

But if how his expression grew more serious even as he admired her was any indication, she didn’t think he had picked up on it. Instead, he said quietly, “I know I don’t have the best track record with relationships, but…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “But I think I’d be better with you. If you’ll let me.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, her heart thumping wildly against her ribcage. Until now she didn’t regret being pressed against him; he must’ve been able to feel it. Her reluctance, or rather her battle between head and heart. Nothing could ever be simple when it involved Jerome Clarke.

He watched her carefully, and suddenly she could see he was scared. Terrified, even. He was just as worried as she was to officially label what they were doing, just as fearful of how they’d navigate the future. And maybe it should’ve solidified her concerns, but it did the exact opposite.

She nodded once and said, “Okay.”

His eyebrows shot up, nonchalance disappearing. “Okay?”

She knew she was looking at him like a lovesick fool, but that was the only truth she could tell at the moment. “I’d like that, too.” And then, because it wasn’t enough, she leaned to kiss him again, somehow deeper than their previous ones. Her hand went to his jaw, putting all her emotions into that one kiss. If this was the only way to express her warring emotions, then it wasn’t a bad one. She lingered longer than she meant to.

Jerome looked up at her from beneath hooded lids as she pulled back slowly, a slight smile on his face. “You want to finish your French homework now?”

Joy gnawed at her bottom lip, fighting the embarrassed smile that wanted to work its way out. She admitted, “I couldn’t even start it.”

The laugh that bloomed from within him made everything feel worth it, the full smile gracing his features convincing her own grin to come out. She let her head drop into the crook of his neck and he moved his hand from her face to wrap around her back as well, hugging her tight. 

This wasn’t ridiculing like he’d done in the past. This wasn’t teasing like he did to those he actually cared about, a list she reluctantly acknowledged she’d made. This was simply appreciation and adoration, all filtering through the laugh that reverberated from his chest to hers and made her heart flutter dangerously.

It was moments like this that made the act of pretending to love him even harder, because she didn’t have to pretend at all.

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written a piece solely bc i wanted two characters to make out and that was it (even w all this denial throughout and prose at the beginning), but i've been reading books nonstop since the year started and i figured i might see if i could still write like a real human being. i have several jeroy stories in the works, but this needed to be done and it feels r i g h t.  
> also i literally wrote a note to myself in the middle of writing that i needed at LEAST a page and a half of making out. i succeeded. you're welcome.
> 
> i'm [ironicsopsychotic](https://www.youtube.com/ironicsopsychotic) from youtube, so if you like my hoa vids please give this fic some love! kudos, comments, bookmarks, all that jazz. (also come harass me on my tumblr, [exceptionallyopinionated](https://exceptionallyopinionated.tumblr.com/).)


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